The Deal

The castle was much bigger inside than it looked outside, which was not an exaggeration. Edward had spent a week getting used to the shifting stairs, winding corridors, and secret rooms, yet it didn’t feel like enough. There was so much to explore here, and he stopped to read any and everything on plaques, hangings, pedestals, and anything else just lying about. He did this with every foray into the hallways, and searching for Dumbledore was no exception. 

When he wasn’t keeping an eye out for professors, he was peeling back wall hangings and tapping objects with his wand to see if they activated, taking down notes on what it was and what it did when magical force was applied to it. Eventually, when he journeyed back to the Gryffindor dorms, his cross-shoulder bag would be stuffed with notes and theories. He was glad he asked for an expanded chest - which, though he knew magic broke every law of physics multiple times, still threw him. Chests shouldn't be bigger inside than outside. He shouldn't be able to climb steps into a wooden box only to stand in a small room. (He planned on turning the said room into his personal library.)

So far his favorite object was a giant Kelpie statue near the Grand Staircase. He'd seen it when he walked with Al to see all four dorm rooms through the week before term started. The statue looked like a man riding a horse, but the horse had demonic features and the stone was carved in a rendition of dramatic movement. He thought it was a pretty neat piece of art, and surprisingly it became one of his favorites for the sheer chaotic rage the carving captured. One day he would casually take Mustang by it and say the horse reminded Ed of the man. He smirked just thinking about the interaction.

Edward was a specialist in alchemy. He could apply elemental reactions to anything he wished, including the ability to shape whatever he wanted, but he didn't understand magic. Magic could make materials interact with each other in ways he couldn't fathom, and so far physics and chemistry had flown out the window whenever the immaterial plane was accessed. These new rules regarding magic were hard because, in a way, he had to unlearn alchemy. At least learning something new this time wouldn't result in a traumatic experience. He hoped.

Magic may be temporary and the energy may not call for payment from the caster, but each spell and each item had an energy flow around it that the caster’s aura interacted with. How the auras interacted with each other depended entirely upon the rules of “access” and the will of the caster. This aura was similar to thermal waves but radiated at an almost undetectable level. He’d found a spell that could help him gauge the length of magical aura waves, turning them visible to the naked eye: Revelio. He’d learned that spell from Garrick Ollivander of all people. 

The man weirded him out with his big eyes and crazy hair, but the information he shared was more than useful. Ed had spent over an hour in the wand shop asking question after question about how wands worked and why there were thirty parts to one despite only seeing a stick. The man had a lot of patience, but in the end, he gently pushed Ed out the door, stating that he had work to do and Ed had things to study in school. He asked Ed to come back if his wand gave him any difficulties, but Ollivander didn't think it would since Yew and Thestral tail hair worked well together to create a cohesive if not loud combination. 

He’d scoffed at being pushed out but had observed his new wand intimately on the walk back to the castle. There were three descriptors for a wand, but thirty parts. The tip especially had a whopping fifteen components, but what was interesting were the spells included as part of the wand rather than what the wand could do.

Spells to protect against weather wear and tear, drops, scrapes, slides, and impacts were woven in and out of the wood and core, and the tip was extra padded with cushioning charms. Along with cushioning charms were spells that guided focus, condensing magical waves in a spiral pattern as if creating a tunnel for a focal point. He imagined controlling the flow of magic from the person into the wand was easier due to these specific focusing spells.

Dumbledore said wandless magic would wreck the body, but Ed hadn’t seen any incredibly fit witches or wizards since he'd arrived. This led him to his first theory: He suspected that the more one trained in body, the more one would have an intuitive grasp on channeling magic without a wand. He did the same using alchemy with Teacher’s help when he and Al were kids. The more grounded he and Al became the more they could feel the energy and elements around them until they could almost perform alchemy without thinking.

He was sure he could get some of these students to help him test this theory. No doubt Teacher would get a few in shape.

It happened while he was observing an old Goblin battle horn from 1612 - in this world, centuries ago. He’d been notating the finish on the metal, (the metal looked polished but underneath were small scratches that formed a sweeping pattern, and he wondered how it was made), when he heard a polite cough a few yards to his left. He looked over to see Dolores Umbridge, smiling down at a poor student. She was still wearing pink, but her tweed skirt had embroidered flowers that moved gently along the fabric.

“I’ll take that, thank you,” she said to the kid, who frowned and reluctantly handed her something round. “Your parents will expect an owl.”

She stalked away before the girl could utter a sound, footsteps striking against the cold polished floor. Ed looked around to find something to duck behind but was too late. 

“Mr. Elric,” Umbridge called, beady eyes fixing on him with pinpoint accuracy. 

Fuck.

“Professor,” he muttered, swinging his bag around to rest against him comfortably.

“Speak up, Mr. Elric, lest someone mistake what you say,” she simpered, squinting her eyes in a coy smile. “I do hope your classes are going well. Should you not be in Divination?”

“Er, Professor Trelawny told me to go see the Headmaster because she thinks I’m too advanced for the class,” he blurted out, mind frantic for an excuse. He should have thought about what to say if a professor did find him outside of class.

“I see.” Her smile changed from coy to cold. “I shall ask Professor Trelawny about her class requirements, and where exactly you fall. Do be on your way to the Headmaster.”

“Professor,” he said, thinking about how he would get out of trouble when something red caught his eye. Just there, peaking out of Umbridge’s tight collar, was the beginning of a small, red - NO.

“Is there something the matter, Mr. Elric?” the witch breathed, dark eyes piercing down at him, smile growing wider. 

“Nothing!” he shouted, darting to the right to run up the stairs. 

"Stop running, Mr. Elric!" she called, and he slowed down until he was out of sight. 

Forget Dumbledore, he needed his brother.

He searched for a good half hour before he found Al sitting alone in the Bell Tower courtyard, a frown of thought across his brow. Though when he spotted Edward he grinned, and Ed couldn’t help but smile back. His little brother. 

“Brother,” Al greeted warmly. “I’ve missed you, how’s it going?” 

Remembering Umbridge and why he sought Alphonse out, panic curled around his heart again like sticky vines. 

“Al, I think Umbridge is the homunculus,” he said, sitting on the bench beside him. Al’s eyes widened, gold flickering under the sun-dappled leaves above.

“What makes you say that?” he asked.

“There’s an ouroboros tattoo on her collar, I barely saw it peaking out from under her ugly-ass pink sweater.”

“So then Umbridge is the homunculus we’ve been looking for,” Al sighed, head thudding back against the brick wall he leaned against. His hair was shiny, freshly cut into a nice fade that accentuated his big ears and soft eyes. Ed was struck again by how truly young Alphonse was, no doubt the same Mustang felt when looking at them both. "I wonder why Headmaster Dumbledore thought it was someone else. Do you think she can shapeshift?"

“What do we do? We have to do something,” Ed demanded, mind whirling. They were supposed to take her down, but short of an outright battle he had no idea how to go about it. Schools were completely different than military outposts and towns. There were a lot of kids here, and they would inevitably lose their lives if the Pillars and Umbridge decided to duke it out in the open.

Underneath the panic he was feeling, though, was a faint sadness. Since Umbridge was the homunculus, once they destroyed her, they would go home. Remembering his conversation with Al that same morning, he didn’t think he wanted to go home yet. 

“We need to tell Teacher and Roy,” Al responded. “We can’t do anything without their help right now.”

As much as Ed hated how right Al was, he knew they needed the adults, at least this time. He didn’t have his State Alchemist badge to help him get into restricted areas or to help him get out of trouble, and Al was in a flesh body now. They wouldn’t get far without Teacher or Mustang.

“Okay, tonight we go to Teacher,” Ed said. “Maybe Mustang will be back by then, too.”

“I hope so, I need his help,” Al admitted.

“Why?”

“I just have a problem that could be solved with some good speaking skills,” he said, not elaborating further. 

“Huh,” Ed said, thoughtful, eyes resting on his tired brother, who seemed a little distracted. He didn’t seem to be in pain or panic, so Ed made a conscious decision to let him be for once. Al would talk to him when he was ready. He always did. “Okay, just be careful. I have to go find Dumbledore, I hope you have a good rest of your day.”

“You, too, Brother,” Al said, smiling at him. While he seemed distracted, his smile was still real and just as warm as ever. It helped ease some of the panic Ed was feeling about the thought of already finding the homunculus. The night couldn't come fast enough. He still had to sit through a double period of Defense Against the Dark Arts.

After saying goodbye to his brother, he spent the next hour looking for Dumbledore. Ed had found his office, but the password wasn’t working, so he continued his search throughout the castle, asking some students if they’d seen the Headmaster. 

Nothing. 

Maybe he was away. 

Since his search for Dumbledore didn’t prove fruitful, he turned back to the library, fingers itching to breeze through some books to find answers to his burning questions. The section on alchemy was small compared to the other magical subjects housed within the expansive room. 

Two winding staircases by the south wall lead to a wraparound second floor, massive bookcases lined up like corn rows. Only one of those bookcases housed the entire alchemy section. 

Ed was surprised to see another person browsing the books, though he figured he should have expected this girl in particular. 

“Hello,” he said, walking to stand next to Hermione. 

“Hello, Edward,” she greeted, her smile distracted as she pulled a book from the shelf to lay on a stack in her other arm. “Don’t you have class?”

“Divination just ended,” he said, true. 

“Hm, then you must be here to search for Alphonse Elric?” 

“Yeah, and I find it interesting you’re here. Are you looking up alchemy? Or something else?”

“I thought it prudent to prepare myself for the class,” she replied, running her finger over a title. “Though I must say, a few of these books are rather vague. Thank you for the suspicious question, by the way. I also find it rather interesting that you would immediately find my presence here nefarious.”

Edward huffed and rubbed the back of his head, caught out. 

“You’re a sharp one,” he said. “Help me find information on Alphonse Elric and I’ll tell you everything.”

It had taken a very long time to admit when he needed help. It wasn’t until the weeks leading up to the Promised Day that he realized he wouldn’t be able to do anything without the help of the people around him. Hermione was smart, and she was deceptively sly, at that. It couldn’t hurt to have someone like that in their corner, especially since she understood this world’s culture and structure far more than they did.

“Deal,” she said and handed over the stack of books she had been gathering.

Astounded, Edward just stared at her. 

“Well, I never said I wasn’t here for other reasons, as well as for the new class,” she said, heading towards the winding staircase. She smirked over her shoulder. “Let’s head to our table.”

“Our table,” he muttered, completely sidelined. 

“Yes, or did you think me inviting you to sit there was to be nice? I have questions, and I’d like answers.”

“You and me both,” he said, sighing. “Are there any other books you know about besides these?”

“Yes, and I’ll hand you the list once you answer a few of my questions.” 

Hermione sat with a plop, patting the seat next to her. He dropped the books on the table and made himself comfortable, turning the heavy, padded chair to face her diagonally. The brown cushions and tables were relaxing and warm in the face of all the chaos caused by magic; the neutral tones throughout the castle would have made him go crazy if this weren't the case.

“Well, what do you want to know?” he asked, resigned. He knew she would have questions, but ambushing him within the first 24 hours of meeting each other had to be a new record for him.

“Where are you from?” she fired off, something crazy in her hazel eyes, like a forest alight with a burning flame. She’d pulled a quill out of nowhere, parchment paper ready to roll open for notes.

“There’s no way I’m letting you write this down,” he deadpanned. And risk having this information spread to others? Yeah, right.

“I’ll only write down the important parts,” she argued, quill quivering with her anxious energy.

“No.”

“And why not?” she demanded, bushy hair seemingly puffing up in agitation at his refusal.

“Because the information I’m going to share with you is dangerous. Honestly, I still don’t want to tell you because we’re in public, where anyone could listen in -”

“Actually,” Hermione interrupted. “No one knows we're sitting at this table. I’ve worked through the years to enchant this area to avoid detection. Anyone who looks in this direction will only see a wall, and they can't hear us, either.”

“Okay, you have to show me how you did that. I thought magic wasn’t permanent?”

“It isn't. There are certain instances in which you can enchant something permanently, however,” she said. “The permanent sticking charm, for example. The permanence isn’t the spell but the material used with it. The permanent sticking charm, for instance, Aeternum Gluten, uses a specific material to bind to whatever you want - there's a portrait in Harry's godfather's home that has the sticking charm. We've been trying to remove it all summer. I believe the frame of the portrait is oak wood since it is a dramatic ring-porous species . . .”

“There’s no way to remove it?” Ed asked, curious.

“No, not that we know of,” she said. “And as for my table, it's made from oak.”

“Which means you can do permanent hiding spells?”

“No, actually,” Hermione said, brow furrowing. “Just, this is difficult to explain. Please allow me some patience.

“I mentioned that oak is the most ring-porous wood, yes? This means the wood itself is capable of bonding to magic more easily than other materials. It’s why the magical community has remained in old houses made of wood and very little else besides iron, another porous but stronger material - whereas the muggles have moved on and created new items and machines using a myriad of materials, like plastic and aluminum. They even have a material called fiberglass that's used to make planes, which are machines that fly through the air!”

“Really?” he asked, leaning forward. Flying through the air without magic or alchemy, interesting. “Where can I find more information?”

“I can take you to fly on one. I much prefer it over a broom,” she said, curing her lip up.

“Not a fan of heights?” he asked, amused.

“Not in the least,” she sighed. “Anyways, let us continue.

“The spell Aeternum Gluten is a reinforced sticking charm, but using it on oak wood makes the effect permanent. If I used this spell on anything else it would still hold strong, but fall off after a hundred years or so.”

“So because your table is made of oak, the spells you cast over the years are just continuing to be embedded into it, creating a thick layer of spells that would be difficult to see through unless I used Revelio,” Ed guessed.

“Close,” she said, delighted. “There is no layer of magic. Oak absorbs magic until it embodies it, thus the energy does not build into a layer. Perhaps Revelio can see the magic, perhaps fainter than you might think, but Revelio can also be warded against. I have gone to extreme lengths to ensure it will never be accessed by anyone but who I let in.”

“Impressive,” he said, sitting back in his chair. He didn’t realize it, but he looked and sounded like Mustang. “I’d like to learn these spells. They sound pretty useful.”

“I could teach you," she said. "For a price."

“Let me guess: information,” he drawled, propping an elbow on the table. This girl was stubborn, he'd give her that.

“Precisely.”

“Okay, then,” he said, sighing. He didn't know where to even start, and he didn't like explaining himself multiple times so he wanted to get it right the first time. “Just, believe me when I tell you this is the truth.”

“Is it really that outrageous?”

“Well, judge for yourself,” he said. Absolutely, he didn't say. “My brother and I did lose our parents, but while our mom died, we lost our dad because he walked away.”

She frowned in sympathy, hand reaching to grab his. The gesture reminded him of Rose.

“It wasn’t until a few weeks ago that my brother and I learned the truth - he walked away to save us all. It’s hard to forgive him, but that’s another story." He frowned, staring at Hermione's hand on his. "Anyways, he saved us by creating an alkahestry array on top of an alchemy array. It's a complicated process, and it took him years.

“My brother and I - and Professor Curtis and Mustang - we’re all from another world. In my world, my country is Amestris.”

He kept watching her face, scrutinizing it the more he talked. He knew how this sounded. She didn’t move a muscle, eyes laser-focused on him in return, soaking in everything he said. He knew she would have more questions when his explanation was over.

“Our world’s name is Maltree, not Earth, and we exist in the same universe, not in a different dimension - holyshit, we’re aliens. How weird is that? Fuck, this is hard to explain. I get why you asked for patience.”

“It’s okay,” she said, waving a hand, eager to hear more. “Though I don’t appreciate your language, please take your time. I would like to hear everything you have to say.” 

“Ugh, jeez, okay, well . . . In my world alchemy is a local concept. Amestris, my country, is the only country to practice it, and Xing, a distant neighbor, is the only country to practice alkahestry, which is a close cousin of alchemy. I'm not sure if your world has alkahestry, actually. Xing calls it Dragon Force.

“We found out alchemy was localized because a homunculus, and, get this, our father, created them centuries ago. Because they were fused like twins sharing the same soul.”

“What is a homunculus?” she asked, derailing him.

“It’s a little artificial dwarf ancient alchemists used to make, created by capturing whatever it is that lives within an alchemy gate inside of every person. It's a gate that Truth, or God if you’re the religious type, keeps a watch over. Actually, Truth guards that gate. I think that's more accurate. Everyone has a gate and most believe that alchemy is a gift from beyond it. Which, until a few weeks ago, I believed, too.”

“And now?” Hermione asked, hand still over his, warmth unmoving. 

“I don't think it's a gift, I it’s a curse. Alchemy created more homunculus, which went around starting war and instigating genocide. These homunculus were born from alchemy being used to bring people back from the dead, what we call Human Transmutation. It's illegal, yet when you're desperate . . . And the worst part is that homunculus can’t use alchemy, which means it was humanity creating more chaos and committing genocides in the name of the greater good.”

“Sounds awful,” Hermione whispered. "Surely you don't believe alchemy to be the cause of all this."

“If alchemy didn't exist, my brother wouldn't look like he does,” he croaked. “If alchemy didn't exist, the war in Ishval wouldn't have happened. My home in Resembool wouldn't be an isolated farm town, Central wouldn't be a pile of rubble, our State Alchemists wouldn't be murderers, and a genocide that I ended up causing wouldn't have happened.”

Reole would forever sit heavy in his mind.

“You can’t believe that you caused -”

“Hermione, you weren’t there. I could have prevented it. End of story.” He dragged his elbow off the table to sit up straight and glare into her eyes, emotions bubbling. Then he sighed when he saw her withdraw with a wry curl in her brow, warm hand lifting away from his unfeeling fingers.

“Sorry," he sighed, truly apologetic, "that was harsh. Let’s just move on . . ."

He took a second to collect himself while Hermione twirled a piece of frizzy curls between her fingers, mouth opening and closing like she wanted to say something but thought better of it. He appreciated her silent waiting before he finally found his next words.

“The first homunculus, the one we called Father, created alchemy. My father had become fused with it through some other means, but that meant he lived for hundreds of years alongside the first homunculus. My dad actually created alkahestry. But Father - the homunculus, not my dad - he created alchemy because he had a plan to use it. He used the other homunculus born from Human Transmutation to do it - he named them after the seven sins that represented the evil in humanity. He planned to create genocides in the pattern of an alchemy array, and he needed the help from the other homunculus to influence humans in order to build the array. It spanned the whole country, connecting our five major cities to each other in a massive star.

“Turns out that array was also for Human Transmutation," he said, gripping the table he sat at. "Which means they would have sucked every single soul within the country into one giant Philosopher’s Stone - what?”

Hermione had jerked in her chair, eyes flying wide.

“You said a Philosopher’s Stone,” she clarified. 

“Yes, what do you know about a Philosopher’s Stone?” he asked, suspicious.

“Nothing personally,” she said, rolling her eyes at his hidden accusation. “But in our first year, Harry had to defeat our Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Professor Quirrel, because he was possessed by a spirit of You-Know-Who searching for the Philosopher’s Stone. He believed that it could be used to bring his body back.”

Ed stared.

“Oh, yes, you wouldn’t know who I’m talking about. You-Know-Who is a dark wizard. He terrorized the world by creating a following - apparently, he was quite the charmer,” she explained. “He died because the Killing Curse he cast at Harry when he was a baby didn’t work, and instead bounced back. In our first year it was confirmed that Voldemort - er, You-Know-Who, didn’t die. He was a spirit searching for ways to come back.

“It turns out that last year he did come back. Yet no one believes Harry.”

“I knew there was an evil overlord on the rise, but I just thought Harry had information that the public didn’t and was telling people about it. I didn’t think it was because a guy came back from the dead,” Ed said, raising an eyebrow.

“Well he was never dead to begin with,” Hermione countered. 

“He sounds a lot like the homunculus we dealt with back on Maltree,” he said, confused. He remembered the ouroboros tattoo on Umbridge. “Actually . . .” 

“What is it?” Hermione asked after a moment or two of silence. Ed stalled, unsure how to answer. “Please tell me.”

“What if there were multiple homunculus instead of just one?” he asked her. 

“Wait, you think there’s a homunculus here? Didn't you say they were created with alchemy?” Hermione asked, confused.

“We’re here because a homunculus is here,” Edward said. “Truth dropped us off here so we could help you destroy it. After we do that we get to go home. I'm not sure why a homunculus would be born here, but alchemy is an old study for you all, not something new.”

“Fair point. So you made a deal with God to kill Voldemort and go home. What happens if you don’t? Do you get to go home even if Voldemort was killed by someone else?” Hermione asked.

“Terrifying question, jeez. Come on,” he sighed. “I hope if the guy is murked by anyone that we get to go home.”

“I see,” she said, smiling ruefully. “Sorry about that.”

“No worries. Let’s just keep the hopeless talk out of things.”

“Will do. So,” she said. “What does Alphonse Elric have to do with all this? I’m guessing there’s no relation between you?”

“I’m not sure, it’s why I want to look into it. Thank you for the help, by the way,” he said.

“Oh, sure, of course. Alphonse Elric is a medical alchemist, official age unknown but rumored to be over 300 years old. No one knows if he’s dead or alive as he went on hiatus from the most prestigious medical center in the world, never seen once in the twelve years he disappeared from public view,” she explained. “These books are everything in Hogwarts that mentions anything about him and his line of work. There’s also a gossip column if you want a bit of a laugh. I can send you the list I made for works from the Muggle world.”

“Ha, great. Thanks again. ‘Muggle world’ means magical people are in hiding, right? Is it possible to have a life in both worlds? And is Voldemort the reason why you created a hiding table in the library?” he added, bringing up something that had been bothering him. “Because why do you have a hidden table in the library?”

“Many wizards and witches spend their time in both worlds. You’ll find, however, the older the family, the less time they spend with what they consider filth, which they believe to be muggles,” she explained.

“Older families value purity and all that,” he said. “Yeah, I gathered after some of the things I’ve read.”

“Precisely. As for the table,” she said. “I created it because of Professor Quirrel. I knew we would deal with this for the rest of our lives if we couldn’t defeat Voldemort for good. I knew we needed a space surrounded by information where we converse freely and away from prying eyes and ears. A place where we could plan. That’s why I created this table.”

“Well then, thank you for the invite,” he said. “I appreciate the information.”

“Likewise. I won’t tell Harry and Ron what you’ve told me, but if they ask I will. I suggest you speak with them. Harry is more closely involved than you might think, and Ron is his best friend,” Hermione said.

“What does that make you?” Ed asked, not unkindly.

“His other best friend,” she smirked. 

“Touche.”

“I’ll be seeing you,” Hermione said, standing and tucking her quill back in her robe pocket. She hadn’t written a single thing down but he knew that wouldn't stop her from recording it in some form. Ed stood with her, holding his fist out. She smiled and tapped his knuckles with hers, and he noticed a cute little freckle by the corner of her thumbnail. “I hope the rest of your first day of term goes well.”

“Definitely,” he said. “You, too.” 

He waved goodbye while he sat back down to start reading up on Alphonse Elric.

///

Harry Potter decided he hated Umbridge. The first day of term wasn’t even over, and already he hated a Professor on sight (besides Snape). The witch was vile, and if she embodied what witches were back in the Salem Witch Trials, well . . . he couldn’t say he didn’t get it. 

Ron, Hermione, and Ed were with him in class but so was Malfoy, and Umbridge seemed to love having this dynamic to play with. She could play for two whole periods, too, since Defense took up their fifth and sixth periods every Monday. Harry hated it more than he hated anything else, even Voldemort. This was worse. No spells. No wand waving. Just theory, and silence. 

Harry was so done with being silenced. 

The more Umbridge spoke the more furious he grew, each word seemingly designed to specifically get under his skin, until Ed jabbed him sharply in the ribs with a pointy elbow. He jerked and glared over at him, incensed. 

“You keep getting riled up like this and you won’t keep her off your back,” Ed whispered urgently. “I get it, but you gotta hold your temper.” 

“Easier said than done,” Harry murmured back but conceded his point. It wouldn't be good to have special attention from another teacher, especially negative attention. Not just for class, but for his peers - they already scoffed and mocked him for being the chosen one, he didn't need to add fuel to the fire.

“Is there something you’d like to share with the class, Mr. Potter?” Umbridge called from the front of the room, startling them both.

“No, Professor,” Harry said through his teeth. 

“Professor,” Malfoy drawled two desks away, raising a lazy hand. His grey eyes cut over to them cruelly. 

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy, dear,” Umbridge said. “What is it?”

“I overheard Potter and Elric talking about holding in a temper, which makes me concerned for the safety and well-being of the class. Could I perhaps have a seat in the back, away from them?”

“Temper, you say?” Umbridge asked in clarification, eyebrows raised in fake concern. Malfoy nodded and Harry glared at him, red in the face.

“That’s a lie,” he growled, jaw clenched to keep himself from lashing out. Of course the little ferret decided he couldn't keep his nose out of Harry's business. Had he mentioned already how much he hated the pointy-chinned jerk?

“How is it a lie? You look like you’re ready to jump the tables to get to me!” Malfoy exclaimed, and Blaise Zabini snickered next to him, skin glowing under the candle light from the nearest wall.

“I see. Mr. Potter, Mr. Elric, come sit front and center where I can keep an eye on you,” Umbridge said, turning to walk back to the blackboard. “First a liar and now with a dangerous temper . . . my mind boggles as to why you were let back inside this prestigious school.”

“A liar?” Harry demanded, standing to slam his hands on the desk. He'd be damned if this pink toad called him a liar again. How dare she? How dare anyone? No one knew more than him the threat they were facing now, and they dare call him a liar? Just because they were scared! 

Umbridge abruptly spun around to face him. 

“Do not raise your voice in my classroom,” she hissed.

“Do not call me a liar,” Harry snarled back, unafraid. Why did it feel like it was always him standing up to the injustice of others? Were his classmates truly that ignorant? His Gryffindor classmates didn't have their fire, this year. They didn't have the passion he was so accustomed to being around. Did Cedric's death cause this?

“That’s it! Fifty points from Gryffindor!”

“You can take all the points in the world, but that doesn’t mean I’m lying about Voldemort rising again! He’s out there! I saw him, I fought him!”

“Detention, Mr. Potter!” 

“He’s out there now, and theory isn’t going to save anyone! He could attack at any time, anywhere, and you want us to sit back and not learn how to defend against dark magic?”

“GET OUT OF MY CLASSROOM!”

“FINE!” Harry shouted back, slamming his hands again before nabbing his satchel and storming toward the exit amidst the ensuing silence. All eyes were on him as he walked out, and instead of getting embarrassed, it just fueled his rage at the unfairness of it all.

He knew he would have to defend his position against his classmates, but another professor that probably taught Snape how to bully kids? He wasn’t expecting this. He wasn't expecting anything that happened over the summer, either, but look where that got him.

“You, too, Elric!” Umbridge snapped, and Edward lifted his hands in a universal sign for peace while he stood to follow Harry. 

Harry whirled back around before he reached the exit, astounded.

“Why are you sending Ed away?” he demanded. 

“I said get out of my classroom, Potter!” Umbridge snapped, pointy one of her pudgy fingers at the doorway.

In the next moment, when Harry locked furious eyes with her, retort ready, the world outside of himself ceased to exist.

For one long eternity Harry and Umbridge recognized each other on the basest of levels. His blood sang, and a gong that tapered to a ringing harmonized in his ears. It was just him and Umbridge. Suddenly she wasn’t a fat, pink-clad, evil witch. Before his eyes her skin grew bloated, her hair turned inky black, and her teeth gained razor-sharp points as she smiled. She was a demon.

When he blinked she was dressed in pink again, her hair light brown and cropped close. 

“Come on, Harry,” Ed said, gripping his elbow and dragging him to the door. Hermione locked eyes with him as he was dragged away, and he tried to read the meaning behind her head shake. 

No, but no what? Yelling at Umbridge? Defending the truth? Keeping Cedric’s memory from being overridden by some batshit crazy toad for a woman?

Ed took him to the Serpentine Corridor, where benches lined the walls, and sat him down on one. 

“What the fuck was that?” Ed demanded. Harry scowled up at him. Of course Ed didn't understand, he hadn't experienced what Harry had. 

“That was me defending myself against some bigoted, power-crazy fanatic! And before you tell me to keep my temper, that was me keeping my temper!”

“Yeah, well, you need these kids to like you,” Ed retorted. “They won’t like you when you yell and throw fits. They just see you as crazy!”

“I’m not crazy!” 

“I know!” Ed shouted, gripping Harry's shoulders. Harry tensed, ready to push him off. “But you’re acting like it!” 

“BOYS!”

Professor McGonagall stood behind them, countenance stern, dark green robes embellished in gold and warming her cool gaze.

“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, Scottish accent thick in her anger. She must have been passing by when she heard the yelling.

“We were kicked out of Defense because Professor Umbridge accused Harry of lying, and Harry told her she was wrong,” Edward explained, crossing his arms to frown at Harry as well.

Feeling ganged up on, Harry nodded in agreement with Ed, betrayal stinging in his open wounds.

“It’s true,” he muttered, incensed. He didn’t know what McGonagall could do about it anyway.

“I see,” McGonagall sighed. “Very well. Best be on your way.”

"That's it?" Harry asked, blinking in surprise. "You aren't going to give me detention or walk me back to the classroom?"

"No, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said primly. "I do, however, suggest that you do not speak about these topics anymore. I understand the world outside of Hogwarts is changing quickly, but you should focus on your studies. You have OWLs this year."

“Professor,” Ed said. “Have you seen Headmaster Dumbledore?”

Harry perked up, also looking for Dumbledore. He just wanted to know what was going on. Why hadn’t Dumbledore spent more than a minute with him in three months?

“Yes, have you?”

“No, boys, I am afraid I have not," she answered. "Headmaster Dumbledore has stepped out today for some business. You will have to wait until he returns. Until then, for all of our sakes, stay away from that woman as often as possible. Keep your mouths closed in class.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ed said. Harry sighed, nodding.

“I’ll try, Professor,” he said. 

“See to it that you do. Or this year will be far more unrewarding than you might hope.”

With her words of warning, she strode away, pointy hat tall. 

“She’s not wrong,” Ed said when it was just the two of them again, students streaming by on the opposite end of the hallway.

“I know,” Harry sighed, dejected. “I just - last year, when I was forced to be a Champion for the Triwizard Tournament, no one supported me until I got my golden egg away from a Chinese Fireball dragon. Then everyone was cheering for us both. In the end, Cedric died because of Voldemort’s henchman, not even Voldemort himself. And now no one believes me when I say that he’s back.

”It’s like the damn Prophet controls everything. No wonder they call that mess of rubbish a prophet if it has this much control over people’s opinions. 

“And they aren’t even good opinions! All of it is lies and slander!”

He knew Ed wasn’t totally following what he was saying, but saying it out loud for the first time made him realize how alone he felt, even with Ron and Hermione by his side. Edward had a feeling to him, something like competence and confidence. Harry was drawn to it like a moth to a flame, almost desperate for someone else to take the reigns for a little while. Just so he could sleep.

Just so he could sleep without nightmares.

The nightmares were getting worse by the day. Death, fear, anger, sadness, delight in cruelty . . . the spiral of negative emotions each night was draining away his patience and affection for everyone. It was no wonder why he was holding onto his temper with both hands, desperate to unleash his rage and desperate to keep his friends. 

Edward was so far removed from this that Harry felt safe spewing out everything that was bothering him, even if he was frustrated by how much Ed didn't know.

“I can see why that is frustrating, but dude, you gotta chill it with yelling at teachers, no matter how shitty they are,” Ed scolded. "You'll never get anywhere if you're just angry all the time."

Harry couldn’t help but laugh in resignation. 

“You’re right. I just - well, I get - “

“You get nightmares,” Ed guessed.

Harry blanched.

“How did you -?”

“I heard you last night, but it was super faint so I don’t think anyone else did. Sounded like hissing, actually.” Edward put a finger to his lips, gold eyes scrunched in memory. Harry grew more embarrassed at the focus.

“Great,” he sighed again. “Yeah, I’ve been having nightmares pretty much every night since the summer.”

“Bummer,” Ed said. “I know how it feels, though. I would say that it gets better, but it doesn’t until you face whatever it is. If you just keep hiding . . . well.” 

“Deep.”

“I have my moments.” Ed stretched. “Anyways, I need to go. I have some reading to do.”

“Can I come with?”

Ed looked at him for a long moment, and Harry shrugged. He didn’t have anything else to do.

“Eh, fine, but no getting greasy fingers all over the pages. You can bring snacks as long as you have something to wipe your hands.”

“Deal.”